Protection
by Smackalicious
Summary: She knows the idea of safety is a false idea of hope, but it doesn't stop her from going to him. Post Judgment Day. Jiva. McGiva. Angst.


**Title: Protection  
Rating: PG-13  
Category: Femslash, Het  
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort (?), Episode Tag  
Pairing: Jenny/Ziva, McGee/Ziva  
Warnings: Just have a box of tissues around. You may need it.  
Summary: She knows the idea of safety is a false idea of hope, but it doesn't stop her from going to him.  
Spoilers: Judgment Day  
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.  
Author's Notes: Yes, this is my 5th post-Judgment Day story. I just can't help myself. I hope the end of this doesn't come off as too much like Not Alone, Tonight, but I just had to write it that way. It's the only way that felt right. I'll stop with the Judgment Day fics now. For awhile, at least. (And I don't think I've even posted all my post-Judgment Day fics here yet. And I'm now writing one that takes place at the beginning of season 6. Sheesh.)  
**

* * *

The idea was still sinking in. She hadn't really processed any of it yet. There was simply too much sensory overload for that.

First, Jenny had been killed. Brutally shot. She had cleared the scene, been there to see her, but it hadn't seemed real. It had seemed like a dream she would wake up from any moment, safe in her bed.

But she knew that would never happen. She knew she would wake up feeling cold and lonely, without Jen's comforting warmth.

Not that she ever really had it in the first place.

Ziva had often dreamt of the moments they had shared in Europe and Africa, the cramped hotel rooms, the piercing cold and sweltering heat, the fire of their bodies colliding in untamed acts of desire.

But out of everything that had passed between them, it was Jen's calming breath on her cheek as they slept that Ziva would miss the most.

A single tear ran down Ziva's face at the thought and she wiped it away angrily. Soft. She was getting soft, sentimental over these little things. But she couldn't help it. She cared for Jenny. She may have even loved her.

She let out a sigh and pushed herself from her bed. She needed a shower, something to cleanse herself, to distract her from the destructive, emotional thoughts running through her head.

She padded into the bathroom, closing the door and shedding her clothes before stepping into the shower stall. She didn't dare look at herself in the mirror, afraid of what her reflection may reveal, what she knew but was avoiding confronting.

A burst of cold, and she quickly turned the dial to the left, allowing the water to warm and steam to billow around her. She simply stood under the spray for a moment, hoping that she could somehow wash this day away, strip the ache from her bones, peel the layer of grief weighing her down and become herself again.

She closed her eyes.

The water rushed around her, and she allowed her mind to drift away, returning to those nights of passion so long ago. Jenny's hands on her back. Jenny's lips on her neck. Jenny's body curled around her own, as they shared the heat of a shower so similar to this one. Ziva could almost feel her now . . .

Her eyes snapped open just as a sob escaped her mouth. She had to reach out to steady herself against the wall, so caught up in the memory she had become. She reached for the faucet to halt the shower and realized her hands were shaking. Her entire body was shaking. It was beginning to sink in.

Jen was dead. She was never coming back.

Another sob echoed around the bathroom, and Ziva's hand flew to her mouth, as though she hadn't been expecting the reaction. And, in truth, she hadn't. This was Ziva. She didn't react like this.

But it was Jenny. Jenny, the only stable female figure in her life for the past few years. Jenny, whom she had grown so close to in the time since they'd met. Jenny, who had changed her life by bringing her to and keeping her in America. And now, not only was she gone, but Ziva was about to lose everyone else she cared about at NCIS.

She had to go back to Israel.

That was the second thing that had happened, the other idea she couldn't seem to get her head around. Israel. It was her home country, had been her home for most of her life, but now . . . She had no desire to return. It was perhaps naïve of her, but she wanted the safety that came with Gibbs.

Presumed safety, she should say. No one was every really safe. Tali and Ari and now Jenny had more than proven that to her.

But it didn't stop her from wanting it. Right now, all she wanted was someone to hold her, someone to tell her everything would be alright, someone who could help her forget – at least temporarily – that her world was falling apart.

In her mind, she knew there was really only one person who would be able to do that . . . without bringing up more painful emotions or memories, that is.

She toweled herself off swiftly, leaving some drops still clinging to her flesh, before throwing her clothes back on. She hurried out the door, jogged down the stairs, and climbed into her car.

The seat was cold beneath her thighs, as she had on only a pair of shorts with an oversized t-shirt – her workout clothing – but she didn't really notice. All she cared about now was getting to her destination, not being alone anymore.

She pulled up outside the apartment building, parking and then running up the stairs two-by-two, reaching the apartment and knocking furtively. He had to be home, he had to be . . .

The door opened suddenly and she was forced to stop knocking, her eyes wide in surprise.

"Ziva? What are you doing here? Are you okay? It's two in the morning."

She stared at him, not saying a word. She was scared to speak. She didn't want to start crying in front . . .

"Ziva? Please, tell me what's wrong." She stared at him more, so he took a risk and reached in back of her to lead her inside. When his arm was around her shoulders, she did something he never expected her to do.

She fell against him, clutching his shirt in her hands, as silent tears ran down her face. Her mouth moved against his chest, saying only his name. "Tim . . ."

McGee ran his hand down her back, then back up to her head, petting her like she was a frightened kitten. In some ways, he supposed she was. "Ziva, are you okay?" he tried again, closing the door behind them.

Ziva flinched slightly at the noise, then found herself looking up again after McGee touched her arm. She shook her head. No, she was not okay.

McGee immediately grew worried. "Are you hurt, Ziva? Do you need medical attention?" He managed to pry her off him, holding her out at arm's length to check for injuries.

She attempted a laugh, which came out as a sob; she knew he would react this way, which is why she came here.

"Please talk to me, Ziva. There has to be a reason you're here." He looked at her with worried eyes.

Her hands found his shirt again, and he reached to cover them with his own, looking to remove them, but after a look at Ziva's face, leaving them be, with his hands still over hers. She closed her eyes, stilling her tears, and waited until she knew her voice would be steady before speaking.

"I may not see you again after I leave for Israel," she said, her voice calm. "Or the rest of the team." She stopped, and McGee opened his mouth to respond, but Ziva suddenly started talking again. "Jenny is dead." She didn't even bother to hide their relationship from McGee, how close they actually were. She raised her face to his, meeting his eyes. "I need to forget."

All the air seemed to leave McGee's body in the breath he let out. "Ziva, I don't . . . I can't . . . You can't just . . ."

Ziva shook her head. "Not permanently. Just for now." She met his eyes again, pleading.

He sighed. "I don't know what I can do . . ."

She took a deep breath. "Will you listen?"

He gave her an odd look. "Of course, Ziva. Is that all?" She hesitated. He noticed. "What is it?" he asked softly. "I'll . . . I'll do whatever you need me to." She gave him a hopeful look and he nodded, assuring both her and himself. "You need someone and you chose me. I'm not going to let you down." He let out a breath, then asked, "What do you want me to do?"

Her voice was so small and quiet he had to strain his ears to hear her. "Hold me," she whispered.

He didn't respond at first, and Ziva was sure she had scared him off with her behavior; she was so distant when it came to emotions, when it came to physical affection. This request was totally unlike her. She dipped her head, ready to apologize and go home, when he spoke.

"I thought you would never ask," McGee said, his own voice husky with emotion. She stared at him in something akin to awe. "All I wanted to do when you walked in tonight was hold you and never let you go, Ziva." She could see unshed tears in his eyes. "I need this, too."

Ziva felt another tear fall as she continued to stare at McGee. She reached to brush it away once she noticed it, but McGee reached for her hand, bringing it down to her side before reaching back to her face, gently wiping the tear away as Ziva closed her eyes.

When she opened her eyes again, McGee was gazing at her and held out a hand for her to take, which she did, allowing her fingers to be enveloped in his warm palms. He turned and led them to the bedroom.

"Do you want something else to wear?" he asked softly, noticing her current state of dress. "A t-shirt or something?"

She almost laughed. "Yes. I . . . Thank you."

He made his way to his dresser, pulling a shirt out and handing it to her. "I can leave . . ."

Ziva shook her head. "There is no need, Tim." The second time she'd used his given name that night. It felt odd, but somehow not, like being with the right person for the first time.

Like how being with Jen had felt.

She quickly peeled off her t-shirt, revealing her bare back to McGee. His gaze fell on her dewy flesh, glistening slightly in the dim lamplight and the dampness of her hair. It was soon replaced by the white of his t-shirt and she turned to face him, not saying a word.

He swallowed and motioned to the bed, the covers already askew from when he got up earlier. Ziva climbed in, laying on her side and waiting for McGee to join her.

He did after a moment, pulling the covers up over both of them before scooting closer to her and gently resting his arm over her hips.

Ziva waited, her eyes closed, for him to move closer, but knew in her mind that he wouldn't, not unless she told him to.

Or if her confessions did.

She began talking.

"Jenny and I clashed a lot at first. We were both stubborn and proud, neither of us wanting to admit we needed anyone or anything. We worked. And when we were done working, we would go back to our hotel room and sleep. Or, try to sleep." She paused, shifting slightly. "Have you ever been so angry, you have just wanted to ravish someone?"

"Um, I think you mean ravage, and yeah, sure. I think everyone gets to that point."

Ziva shook her head. "No, I think you are misunderstanding me, Tim. Have you ever just wanted to rip off someone's clothes and punish them for their behavior?"

McGee's breathing grew slightly labored against Ziva's neck. His knee nudged its way between her thighs. "Yes," he answered solidly.

"We knew it was just sex. We knew it wouldn't lead anywhere beyond the times when we lost all control and had to have each other."

She felt the warmth of his chest pressing against her back. "You fell in love with her." His voice was barely a whisper in the dark.

She shook her head, her small fingers seeking out his larger ones. They found them and slid through the open spaces between them. "I do not know that I was ever in love with her. But I did love her. I still do." She let out a sigh. "I have lost so many, Tim. I am tired."

McGee tightened his hold on her body. "I won't let you lose the team. You won't lose us."

More tears made their way down Ziva's face. "There is no guarantee. No one is safe from death. And I . . ." She had to pause to collect herself. "Israel is very dangerous."

"Hey." His voice was soft, soothing. "Look at me." She turned her head, and McGee could feel his heart breaking as he saw the look on her face, and her tears. He fought the urge to simply kiss them away and spoke. "You're going to come back. We all are. And things will be back to the way they've always been in no time."

"Not quite," Ziva said, thinking of Jenny again.

McGee mentally cursed himself. "I'm sorry . . ."

Ziva shook her head, rolling herself over so they were facing each other. "Do not apologize. You are right. I need to remember the good things about Jenny. She would not want me wallowing in self-pity. That is not who I am."

"No, it isn't," McGee agreed. "You are strong, and beautiful, just like Jen." He smiled. "And I'm lucky to have known the both of you."

Ziva bit her lip to keep from letting out another sob and snuggled into him, laying her head on his chest. "And I am lucky to have met you. So very lucky." She smiled slightly. "I am sad I have to leave you, if even for only a little while."

McGee sighed, running a hand over her hair. "Let's not think about that right now. Let's pretend this night is never going to end and we can lay here forever."

Ziva didn't respond at first, just closed her eyes and listened to the calming beat of McGee's heart. When she did speak, she said, "I feel safe."

McGee sighed softly. "Me too, Ziva. Me too."

She lifted her head to look at his face, and raised her hand to brush it across his lips. Then she moved her mouth to his, pressing a slow kiss to his lips.

McGee returned the kiss just as slowly as she had initiated it. But it wasn't out of nerves, or fear, or even tiredness. No, this was the right thing to do. It _felt _right kissing Ziva like this. And to him, and Ziva, the slower they kissed, the longer it seemed, and it was almost like time was standing still for them, allowing them this moment, this slice of time that was just the two of them, together, nothing to be concerned about in the world.

And the kiss seemed to last for hours, all their fears and worries and grief disappeared and replaced with love, just love and passion, desire, and the sheer safety they each felt being in the other's arms.

When the kiss ended, Ziva tucked her head back onto McGee's chest, allowing herself to be soothed by his comforting heartbeat again. She spoke quietly, more to herself than to him. "Thank you."

McGee smiled. "Thank _you_, Ziva," he said, just as quietly. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Ziva echoed, and gently kissed his chest right over his heart.

And that is how they fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms, their thoughts calm and easy. And while they both knew it wouldn't always be this way and things would soon be even harder for all of them, not just the two of them, they could rest soundly tonight in the safety and comfort that came with being together.

THE END


End file.
